


The Mask of Veyriel

by Laylah



Category: Last Remnant
Genre: Community: 36_stratagems, Gen, Missing Scene, Strategy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2010-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When He comes, when He takes control of the castle and captures the hearts of the people, Roeas knows things are changing.</p><p><i>[29. Deck the tree with false blossoms. Tying silk blossoms on a dead tree gives the illusion that the tree is healthy. Through the use of artifice and disguise, make something of no value appear valuable; something of no threat appear dangerous; something of no use appear useful.]</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mask of Veyriel

They are soldiers in Veyriel's army; they are partners, nothing less or more. Roeas speaks for both of them, as Castanea cannot, but she has learned over the years to read the myriad things he tells her with no words at all. They are irregular but they are proud and fierce, and Veyriel has never been enough of a power to turn away strong men and women who would serve.

When He comes, when He takes control of the castle and captures the hearts of the people, Roeas knows things are changing. She worries, at first, wonders whether the Conqueror's new order will have room for them. Then she meets Him, when He comes to review the troops, and knows that her worries were baseless. He can see the value in all of them just as easily as He saw the value in Veyriel itself.

So when they are summoned to the war room, she is not afraid. Whatever plan He has for them, she has faith in it.

He wastes no time when they arrive. "I am taking a delegation to Elysion," He tells them. His lip curls in amusement. "To negotiate."

"My lord," Roeas says, and Castanea rumbles at her side. The idea of Veyriel having a place at the Congress, wielding one of the great Remnants, would have been unthinkable before He came. "We are to accompany you?"

"Indeed," He says. "You will act as the Conqueror's herald and mouthpiece. And you," He says, looking up to meet Castanea's eyes, "will play the part of the Conqueror."

Castanea shifts, flinches to display his unease; Roeas frowns. "We are to impersonate you, my lord?" she says. She doesn't know if they honestly _can_ ; her knowledge of politics is not so extensive as that. They are soldiers, not diplomats.

"Not for long," He reassures her. "You'll make a grand entrance into the city. Give Elysion's guards something to pay attention to, while I make...preparations for the meetings. I won't need much time."

Roeas looks up at Castanea, and sees her own determination reflected back at her. "We are at your command, my lord," she says.

They are both sent to the armorer before they leave the city. Roeas is fitted for an impractical but extremely showy set of lacquered plate; for Castanea, the armorer makes a great horned helm and a pair of heavy cuffs with sundered chain hanging from them. His shoulders tense with discomfort at the shackles, but Roeas stays with him, hand on his giant arm to reassure him. It has been years since thoughtless, fearful townsmen tried to bind him out of fear, but the memory is still fresh enough. But these shackles, the armorer tells them, are for show only; the latch is hidden but simple, so Castanea can take them off himself if need be. They are a symbol only -- broken chains, a sign of the Conqueror's rise despite the confining influence of the Congress.

A score of soldiers make up the traveling delegation; He marches with them on the road, quiet but impossible to ignore, His power and confidence plain. Roeas thinks that any of them would be willing to die for him. She is not ashamed to count herself in that number.

The Holy City of Elysion is a marvel, broad streets and graceful architecture, and the shining Remnant stretching to the heavens overhead. Roeas knows she cannot let herself be moved. She has a part to play.

He leaves them at the gates. "Godspeed," He says, with that private, amused smile. "Make yourselves visible, and stay away from the assembly plaza. When I have made my move, withdraw from the city."

"You will give us a sign, my lord?" Roeas says.

"It will be unmistakable," He promises.

Roeas watches Him go, then squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. "Fall out," she tells the others, and they march into Elysion as if they have already triumphed.

The treads of their boots announces them, and people scatter to the edges of the broad boulevard to give them room. Castanea draws their attention, as he is supposed to; Roeas can hear the nervous whispers, the speculation about how terrible the Conqueror must be. She mimics His smile and pours all of her confidence into her stride.

When they've gathered enough of an audience, she stops, lifting her chin, raising her voice to be heard: I am Roeas, messenger for his lordship, the Conqueror! We hail from the eastern city of Veyriel. We've come for the Remnant entrusted to us by the prophecy of the God Emperor!" She boasts to them of the future, makes prophecies herself; the things she says are half promise, half threat, vague enough to leave people arguing over what she's truly meant.

By the time she's finished speaking, a nervous-looking functionary has come cringing forward, flanked by soldiers. "Honored guests," he says, "I bid you welcome to Elysion. We, ah, have had no news of your coming, so I regret that the embassies have not prepared for your arrival. If you would care to stay in Hendler --"

"We would not," Roeas says, and behind her Castanea steps forward with a clink of chains. His shadow falls over them both, and Elysion's functionary quails visibly. "We will have a place on Embassy Row, as is our due." It's the perfect opportunity, Roeas thinks. "And while you are preparing it for us, we will survey the rest of the city." Not _tour_ or _visit_ , polite words that come in peace: _survey_ , as though they might need to bring their army here in truth.

They will not. Elysion does not fight, and will bow to them when they have proven themselves to the lords.

"I-I shall see what can be done," the poor outmatched official says. Castanea rumbles a low sound of satisfaction, the sort most people take for a growl.

"My lord awaits your success," Roeas says. "Send us a messenger when our rooms are prepared."

She leads the delegation through the city at a slow march, the pace of a victory parade, and stops more than once to tell their nervous audience of the prosperity the Conqueror brings. Each time, more of Elysion's guards are following them, hands gripping their pikes while they wait for the threat of the delegation's presence to be made good. Roeas tries to make it seem like she doesn't even notice them -- with the Conqueror's might at her back, she shouldn't care for little mitra concerns.

They are walking up the old stone steps toward the temple when the signal comes: west of them, on the central hill that houses both the academy and the assembly hall, a great red light flares up, reaching for the sky. The brilliance of Remnant power is unmistakable. Somewhere nearby, someone screams.

Roeas smiles, turning back to face the soldiers. "Our work here is done," she says. "We move!"


End file.
